


your servant until the day I die

by fornevertash



Series: Kinkalot 2020🌶 [8]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottoming from the Top, Kinkalot 2020, M/M, Ritual Sex, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26094142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fornevertash/pseuds/fornevertash
Summary: “Take my life then, please,please, I will give you anything,” Arthur begs.Emrys crouches before him and reaches out to touch his cheek, Arthur gasps as the touch sends a frisson of electricity sparking across his skin.“When have I ever been able to deny you anything?”
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Kinkalot 2020🌶 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900918
Comments: 18
Kudos: 175
Collections: Kinkalot 2020





	your servant until the day I die

**Author's Note:**

> First-place winner (omg💀) of the Kinkalot 2020 Challenge #2- Mistake.

“King Arthur, what do you seek here in this sacred place?”

Shrouded in a dark cloak and bathed in moonlight, the figure in front of him seems otherworldly. 

Scattering the dredges of his broken pride, Arthur bows his head, “I have come to seek a favour of the great Emrys. We have not seen any rain in many moons. The crops are dead and the people are suffering. Camelot is dying.” 

Beneath the shadow of his hood, Arthur sees the corner of Emrys’ mouth quirk up. 

“Ah, you have finally learned that no kingdom can exist without magic. Magic is part of the earth, the sun and the sky. Without it, the land begins to fade.” A flash of brilliant gold eyes, “But is it too late?”

Arthur drops to his knees, “Please, I-I’ll do anything, give you anything.”

“...So you seek mercy from those you have worked tirelessly to eradicate. Why should I do anything to help you?”

“I have made so many mistakes,” Arthur’s heart feels as if it is pumping mud instead of blood, each beat sluggish and pained, weighed down with the depth of his failure. After Morgana’s death and his victory at Camlann, he had launched a war against magic to rival even his father’s Great Purge. There had been no one there to stop him.

“There’s a matter of payment, young king,” Emrys sighs and around him the trees, grass, and flowers seem to exhale with him. Somehow, even though the rest of his kingdom is dry and barren, this clearing is green and alive. 

“I-I have plenty of gold to compensate you.”

“It is not gold the earth seeks.” 

“Take my life then, please, _please_ , I will give you anything,” Arthur begs.

Emrys crouches before him and reaches out to touch his cheek, Arthur gasps as the touch sends a frisson of electricity sparking across his skin. 

“When have I ever been able to deny you anything?”

Soft lips press against his and when Arthur gasps, a hot tongue slides into his mouth. Arthur cannot see, he cannot think, he cannot feel anything but the delicious sensation of full lips moving against his, scorchingly perfect. 

The lips move away and Arthur blinks, momentarily stunned. Hands are moving over his body, deft and practiced, and his armour falls away piece by piece. A blaze of gold blinds him for a split second and he feels the warmth of bare skin against his bare skin.

He feels gentle hands push him back into the cradle of grass and it seems as if the very earth softens to receive his body. Emrys’s form is a steady weight on top of him, slim thighs bracketing his hips.

Emrys trails his fingers down Arthur’s shoulders and brushes, whisper soft, against one puckered nipple. Arthur’s eyes flutter shut, waves of pleasure spiralling through his body. Emrys leans forward and captures the bud between his lips, grazing his teeth over hypersensitive skin and Arthur arches up into the hot mouth, a harsh groan of pleasure-pain torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

The hands and lips are gone and Arthur finally feels steady enough to open his eyes. The sight above him nearly breaks him. Emrys, pale and glowing, has two fingers shoved up inside of himself, soft little pants of pleasure tumbling from his lips as he rides his fingers.

“Fuck,” Arthur breathes and in the serene beauty of the clearing, it sounds too loud, too obscene. He tries to focus on Emrys’ face, desperately wanting to see his expression, but his features are blurred, veiled with magic. 

A firm hand grips his hardness and then he can feel his cock push through each tight, unrelenting ring of muscle, until he is seated to the root. Emrys is shaking like a leaf on top of him. Arthur wants to sit up, tumble him into his arms, and soothe him with gentle kisses. He doesn’t. How can he comfort with hands that have murdered countless of Emrys’ kin?

Unable to stay static, Arthur thrusts up into the velvet, clenching heat above him. Emrys cries out, throwing back his head, and his eyes burn like stars, so brilliant and blinding that Arthur can’t draw breath.

The rhythm is hard, rough, unforgiving and Arthur has never been so lost and yet, so whole. Emrys’ body is a thing of beauty, a force of nature, and Arthur wants to plunder all of it’s riches, take, until Emrys is all his, body and soul.

His hands find purchase on jutting hip bones and he hammers himself up while slamming Emrys down, over, and over, and _over_ again, until the smaller man is sobbing and clawing desperately at his chest, marking him with thin red gouges, cock bouncing obscenely against the hard planes of Arthur’s stomach with a slick _slap, slap, slap_.

The ground is shaking beneath him, or maybe it is the sky above. There’s a flash of lightning and the whole sky is illuminated and for just a fraction of a second, Arthur sees high cheekbones, full-bowed lips, and brilliantly blue eyes.

Then he’s coming, thrusting into the beautiful body on top of him as far as he could go, feeling his balls draw up where they’re pressed tight to the round ass. He spills all of himself deep into the sucking heat of Emrys’ body, feeling the warlock’s body clench and flutter as he reaches his own completion.

His eyelids feel too heavy to hold open and he sinks back into the warm, welcoming earth, drowsy and sated. He feels droplets fall against his face and tastes them, warm and salty, like sea mist. Then, soft pressure against his lips, barely there, like a secret. 

When he opens his eyes, it’s raining and he’s alone. 

Next to him, tattered and rust-stained, is a bundle of painfully familiar blue material.

A neckerchief. 

He closes his eyes and remembers. 

_Blue eyes plead up at him, one shaking pale hand grasps the shoulder wound, rivulets of blood soaking into dull blue material. He presses his boot to the man’s chest and shoves him harshly off Excalibur, unmoved by the gasping cry of pain._

_‘Please Arthur, I use it for you, only for you.’_

_‘Go! I only spare your life because you’ve saved mine. But if I see you ever again… I won’t hesitate.’_

Arthur holds the ragged cloth against his chest and cries. 

**Author's Note:**

> 💔


End file.
